


Fevered

by Tomstinkerbell



Series: Little Encounters [4]
Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom
Genre: Ageplay, DDLG, Daddy Dom Loki, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fingering, NSFW, Orgasm, Rectal Temperature Taking, Spanking, dd/lg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 03:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomstinkerbell/pseuds/Tomstinkerbell
Summary: This work contains:Daddy Dom Loki, D/s, Ageplay, Daddy Kink, DDlg, Spanking, Rectal Temperature Taking, Fingering, Orgasm and is NSFW.





	Fevered

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains: 
> 
> Daddy Dom Loki, D/s, Ageplay, Daddy Kink, DDlg, Spanking, Rectal Temperature Taking, Fingering, Orgasm and is NSFW.

“Come to me, my little princess.” The rumble of that deep, commanding tone makes you shiver, but not immediately begin to move towards him as you know you should. As much as you adore him, and know beyond any doubt that he adores you, your little can be contrary, as if she feels it necessary, sometimes, to quite deliberately test the limits he has set for you.

“No,” you whisper softly, twirling a lock of your hair around your finger nervously while avoiding his gaze as you stand your ground.

That earns you a raised eye-browed, slightly tilted head look, as if your reaction is both surprising and perhaps a bit disappointing to him. Loki knows that its normal for you to push back a bit, and in truth, he’s glad you feel comfortable enough with him to do that – not that he’s going to let you get away with it.

His low, firm words drift to your ears again, encouraging you to do as he says.

“Littlest, by now you know that you should obey me rather than making me come get you, do you not?” 

You know that he is absolutely right. But still, you resist the urge to comply. Instead, you clasp your hands behind you automatically, as if you could protect your bottom from what he hasn’t done to you yet but certainly has in the past, because, by the end, his tone had leaned slightly over in to scolding.

Even more quietly, you repeat yourself, though, rather than taking his hint, already sounding as if it’s become more of a wish than you want it to be, moving a small step back and beginning to twist yourself back and forth at the waist nervously.

“No, Daddy.”

Although you know beyond a doubt that he would never really hurt you, it still takes everything you have to remain in place as he walks towards you, becoming bigger and bigger in reality and in your little’s mind until he is a giant standing in front of you, completely filling your field of vision as he reaches down to cup your chin in his big hand with infinite gentleness, forcing you to look all the long way up at him. 

His voice is more than lightly chiding this time. “You also know that I do not favor hearing that word from you very often -” But he stops mid-sentence, frowning suddenly and moving his hand to cup your cheek, then laying it across your forehead. “You seem very warm, honeybug. I think we need to take your temperature.” Your stubborn misbehavior forgotten for the moment, long fingers loop themselves around your wrist and guide you back through the living room and into your bedroom.

So far, you’d been able to convince yourself that you aren’t getting sick – not wanting to miss precious time with him - but, since he’s noticed that you definitely are, it’s even harder now not to give in to how weak and dragged out you feel, unable to keep yourself from mewling pitifully, “I don’ feel good, Daddy.”

You were going to remind him about the thermometer in the bathroom as you are briskly guided past the door to the en suite, but then remember who and what he is. He could produce an instant read thermometer of his own wherever he was without thinking about it, which is fine with you.

When you get to the edge of the bed, he lifts you into his arms, and seconds later, he’s leaning back against the headboard, cuddling you tightly on his lap and gently rubbing your back. “I am so sorry you are not feeling well, pumpkin, but I shall take care of you until you are all better, and then we will address your disobedience.”

Pouting at that last bit, knowing you can’t count on him to forget, as some Daddies would, you grasp at his big shoulders, trying to snuggle against him, but then he very gently turns you so that you’re over his lap.

You crane your head to look up at him in shock and surprise. “Daddy, you’re not gonna spank me, are you?” you whisper, already on the edge of tears at the thought.

He caresses your hair lovingly. “I certainly don’t want to spank you when you’re sick, although I will if I have to – if you misbehave. I only want to help you feel better,” Loki reassures you firmly, but at the same time, he’s lowering your denim shorts, taking the Tinkerbell panties that are beneath them at the same time, moving them to the tops of the backs of your thighs - just below the last curve of your butt cheeks.

“Daddy, no!” Alarmed, you try to rise up, but his hand on your back – gentle as it is - keeps you easily in place. “Whad’re you doin’?” you ask, horrified that you think you already know, although you certainly don’t want to believe you’re right.

It’s truly too mortifying a fate to contemplate!

He - he wouldn’t do that to you, would he?

“I told you, little one. I’m going to take your temperature,” he replies quietly.

Now you believe it, and – horribly aware of and exceedingly embarrassed at the way he intends to accomplish that goal - you make much more of a concerted effort to try to get away. But all you get is even more tired.

Although he’s holding you fast without much effort, Loki is also doing his best to try to calm you down at the same time. “Shh-shh-shhhhhh, Littlest. Have I ever hurt you?”

“Yes! You spank me!” you counter immediately, eyes filling with tears because you have a terrible feeling that you’ve already lost this fight.

Loki has to suppress a smile at the fact that whenever he asks you that question, being spanked is always what you harken back to as a response. “Have I ever hurt you at any other time besides when I was correcting you for being naughty?” he rephrases patiently.

“That has nuffin’ ta do wiv dis!” you pout, eyes tears overflowing just at the thought of what he intends to do to you.

He pats your bottom. “Of course it does. You know that I would never deliberately hurt you, and this will not, either.”

“But Big has a regalar thermomenter inna baffroom!” you inform him almost desperately.

You can’t see him, but Loki’s lips twitch in an almost grin at your mispronunciations – knowing that the frequency of them signals that you are no longer as old as you might prefer to be or even think you are - as he rubs his hand up under your shirt, as skin to skin contact tends to soothe you. “I know she does. I have seen it there. But it is not – in my opinion – the best kind to use with little girls who might not keep their mouths shut tightly -”

“But I will! I will!” you practically yell through sobs. “I promise I will!”

“That’s enough, little girl.” He’s using a tone he very rarely does with you – a no nonsense one that means if you continue to protest, you’re not only likely to end up with him taking your temperature in the most humiliating way known to little girls, but you’re also goin to find yourself on the receiving end of a very thorough spanking that’s going to make you cry much harder than you are right now, and hurt for much longer than the temperature taking is going to make you feel embarrassed.

So, although you’re still hiccoughing sobs and whimpering pitifully, and you really don’t want to, you force yourself not to beg him any more while lying limp over his lap.

“You won’t even know it’s happening,” he coaxes encouragingly. “It will be over before you know it – five minutes goes by very quickly.”

“FIVE WHOLE MINUTES?!” You try to rear up again but still can’t. You are kept gently right where he wants you to be, not able to move so much as an inch.

Seconds later, you feel your cheeks being parted slightly and something slim but unyielding at your back door that’s been thoroughly slickened, and that he slowly and carefully presses into you as you moan and weep piteously in indignation.

“There. That was not too bad, was it, my dearest little love?” he asks, stroking a big hand over your face and hair, then rubbing your back again – while you are – as stealthily as you can – trying to expel the thermometer, which slips triumphantly out with minimal effort.

Unfortunately, he’s paying very close attention to you, as he always does, and notices immediately, which means that he reinserts it almost as soon as it came out, doing so again the second time, too.

The third time, however, it is not instantly reseated, and – although that is your goal - you can’t think that that means anything good for you.

Instead, what you feel is the broad flat of his palm cracking sharply against your tender skin, which has you bellowing loudly and begging him to stop from the first awful smack, but he doesn’t until every bit of your bottom is a hot, red mass of very sore, angry flesh. “I am sorry to have to blister your pretty little bottom when you’re not feeling well, babydoll,” he says, managing to sound very earnest even as he does so anyway, “But I will not allow you to thwart my intentions. And that is a very naughty thing for you to try to do.”

Seconds after he’s finished disciplining you, you end up in exactly the situation you most wanted to avoid – spanked and mortified by having your temperature taken this way, unable to keep yourself from mewling feebly when he presses the thermometer back inside you again. “You are also working against yourself, little one, because every time you push it out, the five minutes starts again.”

You wail loudly at that proclamation, and this time, dammit, he’s taken the choice away from you by leaving his palm over where the tip of the thin glass tube pokes out from between your cheeks to make sure that it stays right where he’s put it.

With his other hand, though, he tries to dry your tears, but you turn your head away from him, so that you are no longer facing him, in childish protest. Loki hesitates just slightly – his hand freezing mid-air as he frowns deeply at your response. But then he strokes your hair, instead, as he hums softly and deeply, a tune you recognize as one he’s sung to you before that you don’t know but that you like a lot. And, against your will – as this entire evening seems to be happening – you relax, although you’re still sniffling and whimpering frequently at the horrible indignities you’re being subjected to.

Loki can see that you’ve surrendered yourself a bit to the situation – to him – however reluctantly - and it prompts him to do something he might not have while he has you like this. He had been craving to do this for your little for quite some time but hadn’t because he wanted to take it slow with her, but he very much wants to make you feel better, and also to distract you from feeling so terribly put upon.

The hand that had been rubbing your back and stroking your hair moves to take the place of the one that lies carefully over the thermometer as his free hand then drifts slowly down the backs of your thighs, taking your pajamas and panties down with it, until they end up just past your knees. You try to stir – slightly - in protest, but he murmurs a quiet, “Shhhhhh. Just relax, babygirl,” and you do your best to obey him, still feeling the distinctly uncomfortable echoes from your spanking.

Then he begins the return trip, gently almost tickling his way up the insides of your thighs, which causes you to move your legs restlessly away from his touch because you’re very ticklish.

He knows, of course, and he allows you to do exactly that. 

In fact, he’s purposefully encouraging it.

By the time the tips of those long fingers reach the tops of the backs of your thighs, your legs are quite spread because you are not thinking - as an innocent little wouldn’t – of just how vulnerable to him you are making very private parts of yourself. You are simply and purely trying to avoid being tickled.

And he doesn’t hesitate to claim that area, either – not brashly or roughly, but cupping you in a calm and natural way, his touch tender but firm. You squeal and freeze, as if you’re afraid that, should you move again, it would encourage him to continue to possess you there even more so, or – worse – make him decide that he should let you go.

You are so startled by what he’s doing that you truly cannot choose – at that moment – which it is that you want him to do.

But Loki has no such doubts, and you are faced with the stark knowledge that you have no real say in the matter, anyway.

His hand remains there, only moving in order to claim you more fully as your face flames as red as your backside, knowing that his palm is undoubtedly being baptized in your dew, which you are entirely helpless to prevent. You are also completely unable to suppress the loud gasps that leave your lips whenever the tips of those long fingers brush – accidentally? – over a clit that has been long since awakened – pretty much since he’d called you to him – pretty much since you’d met him - although this is the first time he’s ever brought your little’s attention to it.

Not that he hasn’t noticed how your little has reacted in the past – even in the most subtle of ways - to his intimate tending of you – he has. Your Daddy has already observed with great interest that every time he changes your panties – putting you into another pair or training pants – they are always quite damp, which is one of the reasons he’s decided to begin to establish a bit more of a sexual bond with Littlest.

Feeling funny about how he’s touching you, you to turn your face back towards him as he claims the heat and heart of you, holding the rest of you still. “D – Daddy?” you whisper hesitatingly.

He didn’t stop, though, because you don’t sound alarmed to him at all, just . . . surprised and a bit hesitant about what he’s doing. 

“Yes, my lovely girl?” he asks quietly, voice soft and soothing while his hand seems to be doing its best to stir you up. Those same fingers are being dragged slowly downwards as he deliberately uses his little finger and thumb to spread your lips wide apart and expose you more completely to his touch, making you protest slightly in embarrassment, which he ignores. They dip themselves into the veritable river of cream your body is producing – and that doesn’t seem to have been negatively affected by your spanking in the least, in fact just the opposite - as reverently as if it was holy water, only to be brought back up to where they had been seconds before to cover your clit completely. You release a ragged breath, overcome by a full body shudder as they curl over every bit of you once, then return to simply lying atop it before repeating the teasing touches occasionally, at random intervals.

And each time they move, your breath catches, at first, then hisses in through clenched teeth as your hips attempt move on their own to try to extend the contact, but he won’t allow you to do that.

“I – uhhhhhhh – ahhhhhhh . . . I . . . . mmmmmmmmmm -”

Then he stops, mid-stroke. “Yes, bittiest?”

Whatever your thought – protest or encouragement – had been, it has been sizzled out of your brain entirely by his efforts, and him deciding not to touch you just now is going to drive you at least as crazy, despite the deep humiliation you feel, too.

Or perhaps because of it.

“Nuh – nuthin’.”

Loki grins outright as he says huskily, “I would bet that you barely remember that this is even here now, hmmm?” Then he very gently taps the fingers of his other hand over the end of the thermometer, where it is still lodged in your bottom, at the same time as he begins again to gently and thoroughly caress your most sensitive spot, while a long, low moan escapes you that you have no hope at all of containing.

But you stubbornly refuse to reply to his supposition, praying he won’t insist that you do.

“Does it frighten you when I touch you like this?” He hadn’t been sexual with your little at all up to this point, but it seems to him to be too good an opportunity to pass up. You’re being held – open and vulnerable over his lap, having just been reduced to tears by a thorough spanking, not quite plugged but subjected to the little girl, medical equivalent thereof. Loki knows very well just how stimulating your Big would find this kind of situation to be.

The way his fingers – his whole hand – is becoming wetter and wetter from your body’s unconscious reaction to what he’s doing to you merely confirms his thought that Littlest feels much the same way, although she’s understandably much shyer and more hesitant about it.

The idea of lying to him never even enters your mind – you’re having too much trouble trying to sort out all of the different sensations that are running rampant through your body. “N- no, Daaadddddyyyy,” you breath out heavily, a telltale hand grasping handfuls of the bedcovers spasmodically, desperately wishing he would let you move.

“You are sure about that?” he asks seriously. “This is something that is pretty grown up, and I would not want to push you into it if it did not feel right to you.”

You are panting so hard that you physically can’t answer him immediately as those fingers work themselves gently but insistently over every single inch of your cleft again, before stroking lightly over your swollen, sensitive bundle as his big hand continues to hold the rest of you mortifyingly open around it.

Your lack of reply results in him saying, “Perhaps I should stop . . .”

He withdraws his hands from both places suddenly, as if he is terribly concerned that he’s scarring you for life or something.

You are free in that moment. He’s no longer holding you in place, and if you wanted to, right then, you could have slipped off his lap and run away from him. You know you wouldn’t have gotten far, but it would have made a bold statement against what is beginning to happen between you.

But again, your mind is no longer functioning in the way it should. Indeed, there’s less of it left, you’re horrified to realize, as he’s been touching you like this. And, instead of registering some sign of protest – any sign at all - in your haste to get him to put his fingers back where they had been creating but only slightly soothing a tremendous ache, you feel you have no choice but to yelp through your tremendous embarrassment, “NO! Don’t do that! You’re not scaring me – please – oh – please - Daddy – unnnnnmmmmmm – please!”

It is in his mind to ask you, teasingly, “Please what?” knowing how badly you would blush at the thought of having to answer him, but he has mercy on you, surprisingly.

Instead, he puts one hand back on the thermometer that is still peeping out of you, although not in quite the same way. Instead, his fingers pinch the end of it quite firmly and begin to twirl it slowly.

“Ahhh – nuhhh – no – uuhhhhnnnnn – no -” you whisper-chant, cheeks blushing brightly at the intense pleasure you’re being made to feel from being violated in such a technically medical – if distinctly childish - way, but of course, he pays you no heed.

Then his other hand again finds what feels to you – even though you’re deeply little right now - like its rightful place between your legs, your near to bursting bud so sensitized that when his fingers just barely come in contact with it, you moan loudly.

Your closed eyes don’t see the deeply satisfied look that spreads over Loki’s face at that sound, and he realizes that he is probably lucky that you didn’t.

With just the slightest stern edge, he says, “You must tell me if you feel apprehensive at any time, littlest, because these are some very big feelings you’re having right now, are they not?”

Your brain has deserted you at his behest, but you know that he expects you to answer him – even though he has already begun to move that slim glass tube in and out of you, slowly at first, but then more quickly as his newly slickened fingers begin to – gently but purposefully – brush themselves around and over your clit. 

“Y – yessssss, D - daaddyyy!”

“That’s it, little love. There’s no need to be afraid – you are utterly safe with me. Do not fight me or I shall have to punish you again.” Loki feels your entire body jump at the mention of another spanking. “I think I need to touch you in this way, so that you can get it out of your system and can concentrate on more important things, like feeling better. Your Daddy knows that your little kitty gets achy around him sometimes, and this is how he helps you with that.”

There’s nowhere for you to hide from the intense shame you feel a knowing he’s been aware of such things, but then, Daddy notices everything about you, and that merely adds new and even more potent levels to your arousal - not to mention your inability to move, as well as the way he’s using that thermometer on you.

And those knowing fingers never let up, never rest, never stop slipping – sometimes barely, sometimes more demandingly - over and over you . . . 

He can see that you’re very, very close, and he adores watching you cum when you’re Big, but this is different. He feels even more responsible for your little’s pleasure, especially since this – somewhat unintentionally – will be the first time he brings her to a climax, so he is even more on alert than usual, taking in everything about your responses as he brings you relentlessly closer.

Loki is very sensitive to you - Littlest in particular, as she has become pretty much completely unguarded with him, which is as it should be. So your reactions to what he is doing are just that much keener, more heartfelt, more raw.

“Daddy – I – ohhhhh – uhhhhh . . . pleeeeaaasseee – AHHHHHHH!!!”

He knows the second you hit the threshold - the point at which your bliss is going to happen no matter what – feeling your body stiffen a little, the groan you are in the middle of becoming an all out scream as he gives you no choice but to let it utterly overtakes you, your body and mind completely out of your own control and quite literally in his capable hands instead as you clench and spasm and cry out for him and it only becomes even more intense as he expertly lightens the pressure but doesn’t stop drawing you from one truly phenomenal peak to another, over and over. He leaves you wanting quite deliberately though, granting you nowhere near as many frenzied orgasms as he usually did your big, ignoring the way your body begs him for more even though you can’t quite bring yourself to do so verbally.

Although even Littlest will learn to do that in time, he vows to himself, shuddering at that delicious thought, his body uncomfortably hard beneath you, but he will not take his pleasure with you for quite a while yet, preferring to concentrate on Littlest’s, to enhance his own arousal and make certain that you will not be afraid when he does finally take you for himself as your Daddy.

While you are trying to recover, he finally removes the horrible little thing from of you as you try again to get up, but he still won’t allow it.

“You do have a bit of a fever, babylove,” he says, using magic to disappear everything and clean you both up.

Still in the throes of the very unexpected storms, your body shaking and shivering clenching wildly as if it deeply misses the presence of his hand and its intimate attentions, you suddenly find yourself on his lap again, being cradled tightly against his chest as he rubs your back and shoulders and – very gently – pats your bottom, which, for some reason, makes you contract even harder.

At the same time, though, he’s big and warm and makes you feel safe – from everyone and everything but him. He’s humming again, and, as the ecstasy slowly beings to fade, you’re feeling sicker, which makes you weepy and needy and clingy.

Long, precious moments of being held securely in the aftermath stretch out with nothing breaking the silence besides your occasional panting or hiccoughed sob, or his murmured, soothing murmurs.

Eventually, though, Loki realizes that he needs to get you into bed, although he is very reluctant to let you go.

“Which – which sleeper would like to wear, lovely?” he asks huskily, an aching lump still in his throat - making his husky voice catch - at the wholehearted, fearless way you had responded to him.

“B-bud it’s too early for dammies,” you whisper, without much protest in your voice at all, your cheek still lying on his chest as your hand continues to grasp a fistful of his soft grey sweater. 

You can feel the soothing timbre of his voice through his chest. “Not when you are not feeling unwell, little one. You shall be spending all day in a sleeper till you are more yourself.” He narrows the choice down for you. “Pink unicorns, or green fairies?”

The sleepers are new – you’ve never worn them before - and are much too babyish for you, you’re quite sure, although you know that Daddy doesn’t agree with that assessment since he’s the one who bought them for you.

“Dreen,” you say, and he smiles to himself again, knowing that pink is your favorite color, but since you realized that green is his, you often choose it instead.

Rather than disturbing you to go through all of the steps necessary to dress you himself - even though the both of you enjoy the lovely ritual of him taking care of you like that, and you think you’ll always blush fiercely through it – you are instantly dressed in the warm sleeper you - technically - requested.

And although you’ll never admit it to him, it does feel very warm and snuggly.

Then he gives you two pills. “Tylenol, to help bring down the fever.” He tips a glass to your lips, and you take a few big swallows of what you’re surprised to find is weak tea, which is what you told him once – a long time ago – was what your Mom used to give you when you were sick.

Then he makes you as comfortable as he possibly can, wrapping you up in a thick blanket – like a burrito - as the chills set in, and warming himself, as well, until your trembling has subsided and you are just right comfortable, temperature wise. He puts something on the television at a very low volume, just to be background noise, gathers you tightly against him and hums just the slightest bit louder as he rocks you very gently, holding you close.

“Are you all right, angel, besides not feeling well?”

You can hear the very real concern in his tone and nod solemnly. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I’m glad. That’s something – touching your princess parts – that I do for Big quite frequently, but that’s the first time I have done it for you, and I wanted to make certain that you were not frightened by it, or scared of it in any way.”

“Nuh-uh,” you answered truthfully, clenching again when he mentioned where he’d touched you, especially that way - ‘princess parts’.

He smiles softly down at you. “Good, because I like making you feel like that, and I am probably going to do it much more often in the future. But you have the same rule as your Big does about it – Daddy is the only one who can touch you there. You are not allowed to touch yourself. Do you understand me?”

That’s something that’s beyond Littlest’s ken at this point, and though you’re fading fast, you manage to nod your head in agreement – barely – as you fall into a deep sleep within the surety of his arms.


End file.
